


America's Week Off

by Fandoms_Are_Life37



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: And the personification too, Bars and Pubs, Benjamin Franklin House, Borough Market, Crown Jewels, Crushes, Dinner, England (Country), English History, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Getting Together, Historical References, Leeds Castle, London, Lunch, M/M, Mentions of politics and the rest of the world, Movie Night, Museums, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Picnics, Secret Crush, Stonehenge - Freeform, The London Eye - Freeform, The Ritz, The Tower of London, They're both oblivious to each other's love, Titanic References, Touring, Tourism, Vacation, Zoo, but it's not the focus at all, damn that's a lot of tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_Are_Life37/pseuds/Fandoms_Are_Life37
Summary: America gets the week off. He spends it visiting England, who agrees to take him all around his country, visiting landmarks and attractions. Why? Because he has a secret crush on his oblivious American friend.God, it's going to be a long week.READ THE NOTES
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	America's Week Off

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT NOTES: I headcanon that Native America was America’s mother who raised him until he was a young adult, then he joined colonial society. So when America talks about his colonial days, he was already a young adult then (when England met him). Also, this author does not condone touching historic items that you’re not supposed to touch. 
> 
> Warnings: Language, implied/referenced sexual content, historical references to war and punishments and unethical marriages, spoilers if you haven’t seen the movie Titanic, very light angst.

**May 2018- London**

**Day Zero**

England tapped his foot impatiently, glancing at his watch. London Heathrow was crowded with people bustling about with their luggage, backpacks, and families. Luckily, he’d chosen to wear sunglasses and a pageboy hat so that his citizens didn’t recognize him, which was his only amenity in the place. Heathrow thrumming with life would normally make him happy, but at this moment, he was far too anxious to appreciate it.

The source of his anxiety finally exited the terminal. For some reason, America wasn’t doing a thing to hide his identity, so he had a couple of people walking with him, talking excitedly.

Inwardly, England groaned. It was only a matter of time before people took notice of him, too, once he met up with America. Honestly, he was never picking him up from the airport again, friendship and secret crush be damned.

Deciding to just get it over with, he removed his hat, tossing it into the nearest trash can (it’d only cost a couple of pounds and clashed horribly with his outfit, anyway), and put his sunglasses in his pocket. Ignoring people’s confused stares, he strode up to America, smiling pleasantly.

He grinned when he saw him and crushed England in a hug. “Hey, dude! Good to see you.”

“America, you’re going to break my ribs,” England wheezed.

He released him. “Oops. My bad.”

“How was your flight?”

“Fine. Although it took, like, an hour to get through Passport Control. No worries, though. The guy was real nice after he took my passport. Oh! I almost forgot!” He turned to the swarm of mortals. “Guys, this is England. England, this is Emma and her husband, Dan. They sat next to me on the plane, and they’re on their honeymoon. They’re high school sweethearts; they met in math class freshman year! Cute, right? And that’s Dave and his girlfriend, Mary. They’re taking a trip all around Europe! We became friends while we were standing around at the baggage claim. This is Marilyn and Roy Smith and their kids, Sophia and Beverly. They were in front of me in line at customs. They’re from Toronto- the reason they were on a flight from D.C. to London is they’re trying to visit the capital of as many countries as possible. Crazy, right? Roy, show England your postcard collection!”

England grimaced at the gaggle of humans. “That’s alright, Roy, thank you. I’m sure it’s a wonderful collection. America, we should probably get going.”

He sighed. “He’s probably right. It was so nice meeting you guys. Emma, Dan, best of luck with your new marriage. Dave and Mary, I’ll text you when France calls me back about getting you in at La Coupole in Paris. The molten chocolate cake is the best, you’ve got to try it. Smiths, you have to send me a selfie when you get to Berlin, got it? Bye, everyone!”

Unwilling to wait any longer, England took America’s arm and led him away from the humans, intentionally blocking out the phone cameras and people that were starting to come up to them. How America made friends with everyone so fast was beyond his comprehension, but he wasn’t going to stick around and find out as people hesitantly approached.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t just come on one of your military Boeings,” England griped, steering him through the throngs of people toward the exit. “Why the hell did you decide to go on a commercial flight and force me to pick you up from one of the busiest airports in the world?”

“I only take Boeing VC-25 when I’m here on business. This is a fun trip, Iggy! I don’t want my government involved. They’re annoying. Besides, I like meeting people.”

“Clearly.”

He pouted as they pushed toward the doors. “You’re mad.”

“No, I’m not. Just didn’t want to see Roy’s postcard collection.”

“It was so cool, though! They’re all in this big book of-”

“If you ramble about some random human’s postcards, I will personally demand American Airlines sticks you right back on one of their flights to D.C.”

America huffed, but he didn’t say anything else about postcards as they walked to the car. The air was fresh with springtime, and England took a deep breath of it, savoring the sunshine before ducking into his silver Aston Martin. America put his luggage in the trunk before swinging into the right-hand seat.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen you,” America was saying. “When was the last time we got to hang out and have fun?”

“The U.N. General Assembly in September. We got ice cream at that little place in Manhattan.” England tensed, realizing he’d answered the question far too quickly to seem like he didn’t care. Trying to appear nonchalant, England started the car and backed out of the parking spot.

America hadn’t seemed to have noticed how easily England remembered it. “That was, like, a billion years ago! Anyway, we’ve gotta do a bunch of stuff! I can’t remember the last time that I took a trip here just to hang out. It must have been back in the 70s.”

July 1967, actually, but England didn’t say that. “Must have been.”

“So what are we gonna do? We’ve got a whole week to fill!”

“I don’t know. I didn’t exactly plan an itinerary. What do you want to do?”

He thought for a moment before replying, “I wanna go to one of your castles!”

England raised a brow before turning his blinker on and going left. “A castle?”

“Yeah! I don’t have any castles. Well, I mean, I sort of do, but they’re actually mansions. They never had any royal-ness or whatever. Plus, they were built much more recently. It’s so cool how friggin’ old your stuff is.”

“Well, alright. Do you want to go inside or-”

America gasped. _“You can go inside of them?”_

“Well, _I_ can go in any I want. But tourists like yourself are only allowed inside some of them,” England replied, slowing at an intersection.

“I’m not a tourist if I’m visiting my best friend, closest ally, and favorite person!”

“Don’t sweet talk me,” England said, flushing. “Australia is your best friend, you lair, and you’re not going in any castles my leaders would disapprove of no matter how much insincere flattery you lay on me.”

He sighed dramatically. “Damn. So close. Where _can_ we go, then?”

“I believe you’d like Leeds Castle. I’ll call up one of the directors and let him know we’re coming after hours. I don’t want to deal with the crowds, nor any members of staff. I can show you around myself.”

America grinned. “Seriously? That’s awesome!”

“Yes, well, I’m glad you’re pleased. But you’ll be here seven days starting tomorrow. That’s only one thing.”

“Can we go on the London Eye! It looks like so much fun! Like a Ferris wheel!”

England frowned. “It’s not a Ferris wheel. But sure. I think that’ll be an evening activity- you’d get a better view at night.”

“Well, we can head into some other nearby place in Central London first until it gets dark. Can we go see the Benjamin Franklin House?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please? I’ve never been! And his place in Philadelphia got all demolished!”

He glanced over at his friend, sighing in defeat. “Fine, but it has to be fast. I never liked the man.” 

“Yay!”

“Don’t get too excited. There are a few places I refuse to go with you.”

America cocked his head to the side cutely. “Like where?”

“Buckingham Palace- I won’t let you antagonize the poor Queen’s Guard. Big Ben is under maintenance right now, so don’t ask. I won’t go to the Palace of Westminster or Downing Street, either, because I spend too much time there already. I don’t trust you anywhere near the Crown Jewels, so the Tower of London is off the table, as well.”

“Don’t worry, I never liked that tower, anyway.”

England furrowed his brow. “Oh? Why not?”

“I dunno,” He said, laughing nervously.

“Yes, you do- you’re acting weird. Why don’t you like it?”

“You wouldn’t like my answer. And honestly, it doesn’t even matter, so just forget I said that. You don’t want to go, so that’s cool. Neither do I.”

“America!” England protested. “Why do you have a problem with my castle?”

Hesitantly, America replied, “Okay, well, it kind of scared me back in the day.”

“Why?”

“It was a prison.”

“You’re not scared of prisons.”

He squirmed in his seat. “Yeah, but during my revolution, I always figured that if I lost, that was probably where you’d end up locking me up.”

“Oh.”

Silence fell over the car for a moment before America shook it off. “Not a big deal, though. That didn’t end up happening. Anyway, you know that place with the giant golf-ball-like-domes?”

England blinked. “I… no?”

“Oh, come on, they’re these big thingies that look like a golf ball slashed in half but kind of blue and white. They’ve got hexagons on and look like you could pop ‘em like bubble wrap.”

“You mean the Eden Project?”

“That’s the thing! I wanna go see the golf-ball domes!”

“The Eden Project is way down in Cornwall. That’s on the southwest tip. And they’ve got gardens in them. You want to go look at gardens?”

America scrunched up his face. “Nevermind. I don’t want to look at flowers. How about we go to the London Eye, Benjamin Franklin House, and Leeds Castle. And you can figure out the rest!”

“You want me to plan your vacation for you?” England asked, finally pulling onto his street and parallel parking the car. “And on top of that, the press knows you’re here, and you want to go to the most cheesy attractions in the country?”

“I knew you’d understand. Thanks, England!” He chirped, hopping out of the car to get his bags.

England rolled his eyes, locking the car behind him and holding the door for America, who was lugging his baggage inside. “The guest room’s all ready for you.”

“Awesome, thanks!”

As he disappeared up the stairs, England smiled a little. He’d lied earlier- he had plenty of ideas of things to do with America, and he was eager to show him around. And while he was here, England was determined to be a good friend. Sure, he was madly in love with him, but he could set those feelings aside to show him a good time.

Shit. Not like that. He meant they’d have fun.

Nevermind.

Day One

America’s face was shining, and England knew he’d done a good job, even if the drive was ridiculously long and he’d been subjected to listening to America’s music the whole time. The Chester Zoo was the perfect idea for entertaining his friend/crush. With 35,000 animals, it was impossible for America to get bored, and there was enough junk food to keep him happy.

They had given the zoo a heads-up that they were coming to book a private tour, and they put on sunglasses to blend in a little better. So far, the people hadn’t noticed them.

“Hey, England, look! It’s a sloth!”

He nodded. “I see it. But please keep your voice down when using my name.”

“It’s so cute! Look at it! Look!”

“Yes, I’m looking.”

Their guide enthusiastically informed them, “That’s a two-toed sloth! They are originally found in lowlands and tropical forests in South America!”

“Cool! What do sloths eat?” America asked. Before she could answer, he gasped. “Forget that! We should look at the lions! Are there lions? Please tell me there are lions!”

She matched his excitement. “Yes, there are lions!”

“Holy shit, we have to go see them!”

“Right this way!”

England ended up spending five hours at the zoo, and by the time they loaded up in the car to drive home, America had bought ten souvenirs that he loaded into the backseat.

“England, I’m hungry!” He whined. “Can we get McDonald’s?”

“That’s disgusting. No.”

“But I’m too hungry to wait on a sit-down restaurant.”

“I’ll take you to Five Guys.”

“Sounds good to me!”

After appeasing him with a burger, England drove south, ready to go home. It had been a long day of hurriedly walking behind America to catch up to him when he decided he simply _had_ to see something immediately.

But he’d enjoyed himself when he wasn’t rushed. They ate lunch on-the-go, he got to spend plenty of time admiring America while he was distracted by rhinos and cheetahs (though he believed that tour guide caught onto him after the first hour), and it didn’t smell as terrible as he expected.

Either way, the sun was setting on their full first day together, and he was pleased. To think he’d get another six days of this was enough to put him on cloud nine, even if America talked a lot and put his feet up on the dashboard.

**Day Two**

“Holy shit,” America said, scrambling closer to the window to see Leeds Castle. “Dude, that castle is awesome!”

Awesome was an understatement. It sat on an island in a moat with light stone walls and elegant towers. Green grass sprawled around it, and its windows were wide, looking out over the expansive scenery.

England smiled a bit. “Yes, and it just closed, so all the tourists should be gone or leaving. I spoke to some of the higher-ups, so there will only be a couple of employees around, and they’ll stay away from us. They’re getting paid extra if they agreed to stay until after we left to turn out the lights and whatnot.”

“No tour guide?”

He scoffed as if offended. “I hardly need a member of staff to tell me about my own castle. No, I know much more about it than the history books have on record, and I know my way around.”

They parked the car, and America scrambled out, starting to head toward an employee who was approaching them. England was only moments behind after grabbing a pair of jackets from the backseat. It could get cold in the castle, and he didn’t want them to be uncomfortable.

“Hello,” The employee greeted, shaking their hands. She twiddled her fingers as she spoke. “We’re thrilled to have you, sirs. I’ve asked a few of my staff members to wait with me at the ticket office so that you will have the area to yourselves. Feel free to take your time; none of us have anywhere to be. So, erm, here are some keys if you come across locked doors.” She handed over a ring of brass keys to England and then clapped her hands. “Well, I suppose that’s all. Enjoy!”

“Splendid, thank you,” England said, giving her a polite wave as he led America over the bridge and toward the castle.

“Hey, Iggy, I think I’ve been here before! Not inside but on the grounds. Didn’t the government show us some flamethrowers here that they’d just developed? In the 40s?”

“Good memory. Yes, you were here once before, but as far as I know, you never got to see the gardens or the interior.”

“Right. I don’t want to go to the gardens.”

“I know.”

They wound their way through the castle, stopping in different rooms as England told America all about the building’s history, the items inside, and the surrounding land. He spoke of Saxon chiefs, Anglo-Norman families, and events that took place during his earliest days as a personification.

“It was bought in 1278 by Eleanor of Castille,” England explained, “She was the wife of King Edward I. Edward was the one that established Parliament as a permanent institution, but he was also ridden with antisemitism and very cruel to my brothers, so don’t mention him around Wales or Scotland.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Well, Edward made the lake around it and enhanced it a lot because he liked living here, so I dwelled here as well during his rule. Later, it was in the possession of Bartholomew Badlesmere, the First Baron of Badlesmere. He was away for a while, and he left the castle with his wife, Margaret de Clare, but the king had it out for them. He sent his queen, Isabella, to torment the castle. Basically, he needed grounds to cause them harm, and Margaret did just that. She didn’t allow the queen to enter, so Isabella made a show of trying to force their way in. Margaret’s archers fired at them, killing six members of her party. Anyway, that gave Edward reason to fight them. Lady Badlesmere and her children were kept prisoner in the Tower of London for a year until Edward II took the throne and allowed her to leave.” England paused, thinking over what he’d just said and the conversation he’d had with America in the car, but America didn’t seem phased. He was busy investigating the stonework of the walls.

“Why’d he let them go?” America asked.

England shrugged. “I said he should, and he didn’t care enough to dispute me. Anyway, they moved to Aldgate, where they were still under restrictions, but the monarchy treated them better after that. When Edward II died, his widow took over the castle. Anne of Bohemia spent a winter here later, although I don’t remember the year.”

“Who’s Anne of Bohemia?” America asked, wandering back to England’s side.

“Richard II’s first wife. They were teenage lovers, and everyone disapproved of the marriage, including me, at first. But they were very happy together, and she was kind until she died of the plague at 28. Richard was emotionally destroyed and never loved his second wife, who he was forced to marry as part of a truce. She was only six years old when they were married, too.”

America wrinkled his nose. “Oh, god. How old was he?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Oh _god.”_

“Indeed. Luckily, they never consummated the marriage and lived in separate castles. They formed a friendship of mutual respect, and she looked forward to his visits, but it was never much of a relationship. He died three years later, too, making her a widow. They tried to make her marry Henry V, but she refused and she went to France. She died in childbirth in her second marriage when she was nineteen.”

His expression was like a kicked puppy. “That’s awful.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on such a depressing tangent.”

“You’re fine. So- the castle. What happened after Anne of Bohemia stayed there for the winter?”

England refused to smile, but he felt like it. America had _actually_ been listening to him. “Henry VIII renovated it for his first wife, Catherine of Aragon.”

“Oh, I know about him! He had a bunch of wives, like Anne Boleyn!”

“Correct,” England said, oddly proud of him. “He wanted a divorce from Catherine of Aragon because he thought the bad luck that befell the kingdom was her fault since she was married to his older brother, Arthur, until Arthur died. He felt like she was a curse, but the Pope wouldn’t allow him to separate from her, so he founded the Church of England to divorce her. He married Anne Boleyn next-”

“-And beheaded her,” America cut in.

“Unfortunately. Poor thing didn’t deserve it at all. Then he married Jane Seymour, who died due to childbirth complications after having a son. Anne of Cleves came next, and Henry didn’t find her attractive. She didn’t like him much, either, so they divorced. He killed Catherine Howard because she was in love with a courtier and married Catherine Parr, who outlived him.”

“Yeah, and then Elizabeth I became queen. She established Roanoke.”

England nodded. “Yes, she did, and went down in history as one of the best, if not _the_ best sovereign I’ve ever had.”

America meandered down a hallway, humming absent-mindedly. “What happened to the castle after it was renovated?”

“Not much for a while. It was a prison and arsenal during the English Civil War. Multiple lords to whom it would have belonged moved to your lands. It passed through a few more hands in the 19th Century. Then it came to Olive, Lady Baillie. She was the daughter of one of my politicians and an heiress of yours. She was born in New York, if I’m not mistaken. I know for sure her grandfather was your Secretary of the Navy under Grover Cleveland.”

His eyes widened. “William Collins Whitney! He got us to start making more steel ships. The guy liked horse racing, but I had a knack for beating him in bets. Dude, that's so cool!”

“I think so, too. Olive was a nurse in WWI and then bought Leeds Castle, using the fortune she inherited from her mother to restore it. During the Second World War, she let the government test new weapons on the expansive grounds, as you mentioned earlier, and converted the castle into a hospital. She was always big on parties before WWII, but afterwards, she kept it on a smaller scale. Her cousin, John Hay Whitney, was her most frequent visitor until she died and left the estate to the Leeds Castle Foundation.”

“Wait, John Hay Whitney? Like my old ambassador?”

“That’s him.”

“That is so ironic! What are the odds?”

“And your Secretary of State met with the Israeli and Egyptian Foreign Ministers here to prepare for the Camp David Accords, too.”

He stared. “No way. I had no idea. I guess I was in D.C. then.”

England chuckled, gesturing for America to follow him down another hallway. “Come along. I’ll show you the library.”

“Coming!”

**Day Three**

“What’s on the agenda today, Iggy?” America asked from across the breakfast table.

“Up to you. We could go to the Natural History Museum or the Needles.”

“What’s the Needles?”

“They’re landforms of chalk.”

His jaw dropped. “No way. Chalk is something natural?”

“I…” England stared. “What?”

“I thought people made chalk! People don’t make chalk? It comes from the earth? Like, without manufacturing?”

He blinked. “Yes. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“No! I never knew that!”

England facepalmed. “Oh my god.”

“We have to see the chalk mountains, dude! Although the museum does sound like fun…” He furrowed his brow, thinking over his options. “Can we do both?”

“Certainly not. The Needles are on the very southwestern tip of my country. It’d take forever to get there. We’d never have time to go to a museum and make a round trip.”

“Well, where’s the museum?”

“Here in London. Considering how far I drove for both Leeds and the zoo, I recommend the museum.”

He grinned. “Yeah, alright. But you’ve gotta send me a picture of those chalk mountains sometime.”

“They’re more of cliff-like islands, but you can just Google a picture on the way to the museum, alright?”

“Sounds a-okay!”

After breakfast, they took the train (America repeatedly referred to it as a subway, despite England insisting that if it was in London, it was the tube) to the Natural History Museum. This time, they were going when there were plenty of people around, but England had some security meet them there to dissuade people from swarming them.

America loved the fossils (dinosaurs were an obsession of his- he took a million pictures of the stegosaurus), and England was always happy to brush up on his knowledge of extinct insects, so both enjoyed themselves.

During lunch in the food court, America begged England to let some of the people that wanted to talk to them eat with them, and England could never say no to his puppy dog eyes, so soon they were sitting at a table surrounded by humans.

Most of the humans just wanted to say hi, and somehow, the mass of people didn’t make England feel stressed when America was by his side. Things were good, and while some of them wanted to ask questions about politics or current events, America did a stellar job of keeping the conversation on easy topics like how their trips at the museum were going.

“Are you two on a date?” One of England’s citizens, a teenage girl, blurted.

Instantly, England felt heat creep into his cheeks. “No, no, we’re just friends.”

“Special friends,” America added with a laugh. “But nah, we’re not together. So, what are you doing here at the museum?”

She started talking about a school project, but England stopped listening. He was suddenly thinking about what the girl had said. A date? Sure, he’d imagined it a thousand times, but was that what this was like? Was it _that_ similar to a date? And… could he pretend it was?

“Alrighty, I’m done,” America said, drawing England back to reality. “Want me to take your trash? Then we can go check out some more exhibits.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you.”

“No problem, dude. Be right back!” He called, heading off to find somewhere to throw away their cafeteria garbage.

“You like him, don’t you, though?” The girl from earlier asked.

England narrowed his eyes. “No. And I don’t appreciate you asking such personal questions.”

She looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant- well, I think he likes you, too.”

“Stop it. We’re friends, nothing more. And you realize you’re poking at important international relations, right? Don’t try to make problems out of nothing. America is my ally, and I am his. End of story.”

The girl nodded fearfully. “Right. Sorry.”

America returned at that moment and glanced at her. “Hey, you good?”

“Oh, yeah! I’m great. Um, I’m going to go now. Bye!” She scampered off, and England shooed the crowd away before accompanying America back into the museum.

“She was weird,” America laughed. “I wonder why she thought we were on a date.”

“Yes, how strange,” England said tightly. “Now, you wanted to see the mammoth skeletons, right?”

“Yeah!”

That made him forget about the interaction, and England silently thanked his lucky stars that America had such a short attention span.

What he couldn’t do, though, was stop thinking about the things the girl had said.

**Day Four**

“Benjamin Franklin used to have sex with literally everyone,” America informed his friend. “It was rare to find a person he hadn’t hooked up with. He had a whole sex cult and everything.”

England rubbed his temples as they walked through Central London on the way to Franklin’s former residence. “I knew this was a mistake. Why did I ever agree to come to the Benjamin Franklin House with you?”

“Because you secretly want to know all about when Franklin and I screwed.”

England nearly fainted. “Christ, no, I did _not_ want to know that!”

“It’s not a big deal; I was a total man-whore after I gained independence. On a related note, you’d be surprised to know how many of the Declaration signers were not straight.”

“America, please.”

“Like Alexander Hamilton? Damn, did he know how to use his tongue.”

“America!”

“Did you ever have sex with Franklin while he was working here?”

“No!”

“That’s a shame. He was _really_ good at it.”

England smacked his arm hard. “I swear to god, if you say another word about having sex with one of your Founding Fathers-”

“You know, I had sex with William III a few times.”

“You _what?”_

“Yeah, well, I was a colony then, so when I was in London visiting, he was just like ‘Are you down to fuck,’ and I was like ‘Yeah but don’t tell England, he’ll lose his shit.’ But it’s been long enough you don’t mind, right?”

England had stopped dead in his tracks, staring at America with horror. “My king had sex with you! While you were still a colony! Of course I mind!”

He rolled his eyes and tugged England along. “No need to yell about it on a public street. And besides, it wasn’t a big deal. It only happened like five or six times.”

_“Five or six?”_

“Yeah. Honestly, he wasn’t that great in bed, so no need to be jealous of me. I only slept with him after the first time cause he was the king, and I was like ‘Meh, it’ll get me brownie points,’ you know?”

England pushed aside the thought that it wasn’t America he was jealous of, but William, and focused on the problem at hand. “That’s- I- you-”

“Please stop freaking out, dude. I thought you’d think it was funny!”

“So it was a joke? You made it up?”

“No, but it was forever centuries ago. Come on, I know you low-key hate me, but you’re acting like I gave your king herpes. Which I didn’t, by the way. Besides, it was probably good for him to fuck someone other than his cousin.”

Suppressing the burning in his chest, England shrugged, shouldering past him. “Whatever. We’re almost there.”

“Awww, Iggy, wait! I didn’t mean to make you mad at me!” He whined, scampering to catch up to him.

“I’m not mad at you, love,” England replied gently. His shoulders tensed when he realized the nickname had slipped out, but he continued as if he hadn’t said it to divert America’s limited attention. “I’m mad at him. He shouldn’t have been fornicating with colonies, and he certainly shouldn’t have been messing around with my favorite.”

He smiled. “I was your favorite?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that. Now hush, we’re here.”

They booked a private tour, and both ended up more in touch with their histories by the end of it. America seemed to have gotten over his guilt spell, while England kept feeling jealousy bubble up in his gut when he thought about their conversation on the way over.

Eventually, he forced those feelings down. As America had said, it was centuries ago, and it wasn’t like England never had flings with people despite being in love with the idiotic nation since the 18th Century. So he moved on and focused on America’s smile as they left the house.

“What’s up next?” He asked.

“We’re going to the Borough Market for groceries to drop off at the house, and then it’ll be dark enough that we can go on the London Eye. They’re going to give us a capsule of our own, so that’ll be nice.”

“You’re pretty good at getting us to go places without people or the press bothering us.”

“A conversation with your nation is often very persuasive. So is money.”

He paused. “Wait, you’re paying people for all this?”

“No,” He said, chuckling. “It was a joke. Come along. We’re taking the tube.”

America sniggered. “You mean the subway?”

“No, I mean the tube. And how many times are you going to make the same joke?”

“Alright, alright, I surrender.”

They traveled across the Thames to their destination via train and walked the last little bit. England was very picky about his groceries, and unfortunately for his guest, most of the food there seemed healthy. Or, at the very least, not a carcinogen, much to America’s dismay. He complained about fresh produce the entire way back to England’s townhouse and only stopped when England threatened not to take him to the London Eye that night.

When the sun dipped below the horizon, England took him back through the city. They went on a detour to walk across the London Bridge, and England ended up literally pulling America back when he was leaning over the railing too far, but eventually, they got there.

Just as England had said, they got a private capsule. As they rose above the city, America darted across it to press his hands against the glass and look down.

“Whoa…” He breathed, staring down at the capital. “England, this is incredible!”

He walked over, looking out over his country as well. “I suppose so. Want me to point out some things?”

“Sure!”

Calmly, England gestured to an elaborately carved building far below. “That’s Tate Modern.”

“What’s that?”

“An art museum. I thought about taking you, but I figured you’d get bored.”

America glanced at him. “Yeah, good call. Art gets boring after you look at it for more than a second or two.”

“I knew you’d say something like that.” He paused before drawing America’s gaze to a large, triangular building. “That’s the Shard. We went there for dinner once after our bosses had a meeting to discuss ideas for improving the Five Eyes.”

“I remember that. We went to that Chinese place. Super classy.”

Pleased, England nodded. “That’s right. We had a seat by the windows, so we had a great view.”

“Like now.” He pointed at another building. “That’s Westminster Abbey and Big Ben. I know those ones. And Buckingham Palace is that place over there. See? I know things!”

“Apparently so.”

He studied the view before pointing at a seemingly random place. “What’s that?”

England squinted. “Erm, the Metropolitan Police, I believe.”

“What about that one?”

“The Ministry of Defense.”

“And that one?”

“What is this, a game of I-Spy?”

America didn’t even wait for a proper answer. He jogged over to another side of the capsule and asked, “What’s that?”

“A hospital.”

“That?”

“It’s called Archbishop’s Park.”

Seemingly satisfied, America sunk into one of the seats. “London’s really pretty like this. Thanks for taking me.”

England, only slightly flustered at the indirect compliment, sat down beside him. “You’re welcome.”

**Day Five**

America tilted his head. “What do you mean a ‘rest day?’”

“Well, we’ve been running all around the country. So I think today we should just stay here and spend time together. Maybe go to a pub tonight. If you hate that idea, we could try the Needles, but-”

“Nah, I’m good. I Googled a picture like you suggested, and they don’t look climb-all-over-able. I’d love to hang out here with you today! Wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure, what did you have in mind?”

“National Treasure!” He suggested while plopping down on the couch.

England shook his head, following him. “No, you watch that all the time.”

“Star Wars!”

He sat down. “No, we saw that last time I visited you.”

“Back to the Future!”

“That movie is completely unrealistic. No.”

“Braveheart!”

“No.”

“Jaws!”

“No.”

America huffed and sprawled out on the couch, flopping down with his head on England’s lap. “Well then, what do you want to watch? Because you just shut down all my ideas.”

Resisting the urge to run his fingers through America’s hair, he shrugged and draped an arm over his torso instead, trying his best to act platonically. “James Bond?”

“You’re way too obsessed with that guy,” America replied.

“Sense and Sensibility?”

He scrunched up his nose. “Ew, that’s that sappy romance one based on that Jane Austen book, right? No thanks.”

“You just want to watch an American movie, don’t you?”

“No! Although what do you think about Forrest Gump? Or…” He trailed off, looking away. “Nevermind.”

Interest piqued, England raised a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, come on, what movie were you going to suggest?”

America squirmed. “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

He tried to sit up to avoid England’s gaze, but he pushed him back down with the arm over his torso, pinning him to the couch. England did his best not to let that thought shoot south.

For the first time since the start of his visit, America seemed to have noticed England’s actions and flushed. And god, was he pretty like that, England couldn’t help but think. If only those cheeks were pink from England kissing him senseless. Now that was an attractive thought.

“I was going to suggest Titanic,” America mumbled, fidgeting.

England gathered his wits. “Titanic? Like the romance movie women are obsessed with?”

“I told you that you were going to think it’s stupid,” He said, looking incredibly embarrassed.

“Oh, come now. I’m teasing you. If you want to watch Titanic, we can. However, it was quite cheap for someone to make a romance movie about a tragedy like that. Far too many of our people died, and I lost a fine mailing ship.”

“Stop being a downer, and turn on the movie, Iggy!” America instructed, turning his head to the side to watch the TV. It seemed that he didn’t intend to get up, and England’s heart skipped a beat when he realized he’d get to keep him close for the next few hours. For that, he’d be willing to sit through any movie.

He had Titanic on DVD (a gag gift from Scotland), but he chose to stream it off of Netflix so that he didn’t have to get up and risk America not laying back down on him.

“Netflix UK has Titanic?” America whined, “No fair! We don’t have that!”

“Quiet, it’s starting.”

America provided commentary for far too much of the movie, in England’s opinion. As they watched Jack and Rose dance at the Irish party in third-class, England ever so slowly let his right hand drift to America’s hair. He gently tangled his fingers in the strands, and America, who’d been babbling about a party he went to with Ireland around the same time period, wavered in his rambling.

England froze, preparing to stop, but America just laughed and said, “That feels good. Just don’t mess with Nantucket. Anyway, so Ireland was like ‘America, a fiddle and a violin are not the same thing,’ and I was like ‘Dude, they totally are,’ but then he started talking about music styles and I was like ‘Shut up, we’re at a party, can we please just have fun?’ and he agreed and everyone was dancing on these tables, and I almost fell off once, but it was so much fun.”

America was still talking, but England wasn’t listening. His brain had been short-circuiting as he was granted permission to card his fingers through his crush’s hair. His mind was abruptly flooded with ideas about what else America could be saying, ‘That feels good’ about, and other instances when he could tug on the amber locks.

No, England firmly told himself. America was his friend. He was not going to sexualize what America probably saw as an interaction between close friends. So instead, he replaced those images with cuddling and stroking his hair. Not platonic, but England decided that was good enough.

Keeping his thoughts PG was harder when, in the movie, Rose asked Jack to draw her like one of his French girls, and they hooked up in an automobile in the cargo hold, but he managed reasonably well if he did say so himself.

But then came the ship sinking, during which America finally shut up. When Jack died, America was crying messily, and while England agreed it was a sad moment, he felt that his friend’s reaction was a little over-the-top. Jack sunk into the water, and America sat up, wiping snot with his sleeve and blubbering about how sad the movie was and how stupid it was to suggest it.

England sighed and opened his arms in an invitation for a hug. “I know, I’m sorry the movie is so sad, America.”

He accepted the invite and crushed him in an embrace, burying his face in England’s shirt and crying. Occasionally, he’d try to say something, but it was muffled and broken by little hiccups, so England just rubbed his back and tried to calm him down.

“America, it’s not that bad. Jack and Rose aren’t real people, remember?”

“B- But he died and-” A shaky breath, “She had to l- live!”

“Yes, but she is not real! They are a fictional couple. I, on the other hand, am very real, and you’re getting snot on my shirt.”

“Guiltily, America tried to pull away, mumbling, “Sorry,” but England tugged him back huffily.

“It’s fine,” England said grouchily. “But we are never watching Titanic together again.”

After America got himself together (and denied ever crying about the movie), they hung out at the house, talking. England tried to get him to play a board game, but America refused, so they ended up watching another movie. This time, it was England’s pick, and he chose a comedy so that no tears would be involved.

That night, England decided to take him out for a few drinks. He was in Britain, after all. He couldn’t visit without spending at least one night at a pub.

“Oh, this place looks cool,” America observed as they approached the door. “It’s called ‘The Harp,’ though, which isn’t very badass.”

“Neither is crying over Titanic.”

“I didn’t cry!”

“Sure you didn’t.” England entered the building with America hot on his heels, indignant and grumbling under his breath. He went up to the bar and smiled at the bartender that was behind the counter.

The man blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting to run into his country’s personification at work. “Uh, hey there! What can I get you, sir?”

“Scotch. Single malt Balvenie Doublewood, if you’d please.”

“Of course.” The bartender turned to America. “And for you, sir?”

“What’ve you got on tap?” America asked.

“London Pride is great. Frontier and Cornish Orchards, too.”

He hummed in consideration. “I’ll try some of that Frontier stuff.”

“You’ve got it.”

While the bartender took care of their drinks, England looked around. It wasn’t as full as usual, so they would be able to get a seat, but it certainly wasn’t empty. Oh well, people here seemed to be minding their own business. He’d come in here quite a few times before, and the crowd tended to be less intrusive. That was one reason he liked it so much. That and their liquor was excellent.

The man gave them their drinks, and they grabbed a table near the bar so that they could easily get refills.

“That’s the shit,” America said approvingly after taking his first drink of his beer.

England chuckled. “Glad you’re pleased.”

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“You’ll see.”

He reclined his cheek on his hand. “But England, I wanna know!”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Mysterious,” America said with a smirk. “Alright, keep your secrets. Be sneaky. But I bet I can figure it out.”

“I sincerely doubt that. Although I’ll say this, you’re going to need a suit jacket and a tie for our second event. And pants other than jeans.”

America groaned. “But Iggy, I’m on vacation! And I wear suits, like, all the time when I visit you. UN this, NATO that, you know how it is. Come on, you can’t talk someone into letting us dress like normal people?”

“I could, but I’m not going to. Did you pack anything other than jeans and t-shirts or no?”

He slumped in his chair and took a swig of his beer. “I packed a collared shirt, but other than that, no. And don’t hate on my outfits. You wear a button-down and khakis every day like a sexually repressed Cornell student.”

“Do not!”

“Yes, you do. Except when it’s warm, you’ll roll up your sleeves with those lil’ sleeve clips of yours. Then, when it’s cold, you’ll add a sweater. And when we’re at important meetings, you’ll swap the khakis for dress pants and add a suit jacket and tie. If you’re feeling extra pretentious, you’ll throw a vest in there and Union Jack cufflinks. Now tell me I’m wrong.”

“Why do you know so much about my clothes?” England jabbed.

“Because they’re annoyingly posh. They make you very easy to make fun of with Australia when we’re on lunch break.”

He rolled his eyes and took another drink. “Well, lucky you. You can borrow some of my clothes so that you’ll meet the dress code.”

“So there’s an official dress code? Damn, where are we going?”

“I already told you, it’s a surprise.”

“Do I have to wear the suit all day?”

“No, only at the end of the day.” A sly grin crept upon his face. England eyed him warily. “What’s that for? Why are you looking at me like that?”

America cockily leaned back in his seat. “End of the day, huh? I know where we’re going.”

“Where?”

“A restaurant for dinner. Somewhere real fancy.”

“Stop spoiling my surprises. Yes, it’s for dinner, but you don’t get to know where we’re going until we get there.”

He shrugged. “Okay. But where are we going earlier in the day?”

“I’m not telling you that, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d refuse to go if I told you.”

America’s eyes widened. “I won’t go to Subterranean London, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s completely haunted, dude! I will literally fight you tooth and nail- you will _not_ drag me down there. Or the London Tombs, that’s fucking terrifying and I won’t go no matter what you say or do or-”

“Relax, America. I’m not an idiot. I’m not taking you to either of those places.”

“I read the Greenwich Foot Tunnel is haunted, too. And the Hampton Court Palace. And St. Briavels Castle.”

“At least one person has claimed most places in my country are haunted. That doesn't make it true. And why the hell were you researching the Greenwich Foot Tunnel?”

He looked at England seriously. “I always make sure I know which places are most haunted before I go somewhere so that I can avoid them.”

“You know people say your White House is haunted, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not true.”

England couldn’t help scoffing. “So you’ll disregard that, but not the claims that my destinations are haunted?”

America stared back at him for a moment. “Well… I trust you. I guess if you promise that wherever we’re going isn’t haunted, I’ll believe you.”

“That’s oddly sweet of you, America.”

“Whatever. Wanna refill?”

“Sure.”

By the end of the night, England was very drunk, and America ended up lugging him home. But, really, he’d expected it from the get-go. Despite how good his people were at holding their liquor, England, somehow, was the exact opposite.

He garbled out a few weird sentences, but eventually, America got him into bed and left him with a glass of water and some pain medication on his nightstand.

All in all, it was worth it.

**Day Six**

Considering how inebriated he was the night before, England rallied very well the next morning. He slept in, but other than that, he seemed perfectly fine after a cup of tea and some breakfast.

They took the underground across the city, and America would be lying if he said he wasn’t hesitant about where they were going. Once, he challenged England, asking, “Why don’t I just refuse now if I know I’m not going to like where we’re going?”

But England had replied with, “Because otherwise, you’ll never know where we were going.”

Curiosity was always America’s weakness, so England was able to put him on the train and take him through the city until they approached their destination.

America halted dead in his tracks. “This is where you want to go?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed dryly. “I specifically told you I don’t want to go to the Tower of London.”

“America, I know you’re nervous, but I think it could be good for you. Going through life scared of what’s now a tourist attraction is not healthy. There won’t even be any tourists because it doesn’t open to the public for another two hours, so you don’t have to worry about being anxious around them, either.”

“I thought you didn’t trust me anywhere near the Crown Jewels.”

“Security will be in the jewel house, but we don’t even need to go in there if you don’t want to. I just think it’s unreasonable for you to be scared of it.”

“I’m not scared,” He protested. “The only things that scare me are ghosts and Canada when he’s playing hockey. And Germany when I’m late. And your cooking. And-”

England interrupted with, “My cooking is fine. The rest, besides ghosts, are valid concerns. But the Tower of London is not something to be scared of.”

“I literally just said I’m not scared. It just makes me nervous.”

“Fine, then. You don’t need to be _nervous_ about it. You know, the king and I never planned on locking you up if you lost your revolution. So there’s no reason you should be anxious.”

“It made me jittery way before the Revolutionary War, too, dude! It just gives me creepy vibes! I mean, look at it! Look at those windows!”

He turned to inspect his castle. Trying his best to understand, he studied the windows, their bricks, and their panes but found nothing to warrant any kind of adverse reaction. “I think they look nice.”

“I’ve heard it’s haunted.”

England put his head in his hands. “Oh god, not this again. It’s not haunted. All those stories about Anne Boleyn, Lady Jane Grey, and apparitions of bears aren’t true! I’ve been there a thousand times and have never seen any kind of dead thing except rats.”

“What about the tons of people that got executed here?”

England glared at America. “There have only been around nineteen. Most of the executions happened on Tower Hill, which is north of here. And even then, it was only 112.”

 _“112?_ Holy shit, I thought it was like 30! That’s way worse! And what about all the people that got tortured? That’s super freaky, Iggy!”

“There have only been 48 cases of torture here, and it was mostly with a rack or a scavenger’s daughter. Trust me, way worse things happened elsewhere.”

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “That’s so fucked up, dude.”

“It was the middle ages! Everyone did it! The point is, it’s not a creepy place. In fact, I think that once you calm down, you would like the Jewel House.”

America went quiet. He stared long and hard at the building, weighing his options. England waited patiently until America turned to him. “You promise me there’s no reason to be scared? Like, seriously promise?”

“I swear.”

He nodded, gulping. “Okay. Yeah, alright. But you have to stay close.”

“I will.”

“And you have to hold my hand.”

England’s stomach did a somersault. “Sure.”

Hesitantly, America reached for his hand and locked their fingers together. “I’m ready.”

Now it was England’s turn to have butterflies, though for a completely different reason than America. His were from giddiness at the contact and the fact that America trusted him to keep him safe. There was no real danger, but that made it less special, so England just ignored that and carefully led him through the castle walls.

They walked across the lawn, America fidgeting and looking around skittishly. But how to comfort him without crossing boundaries? One word: distraction.

England began talking to ease his mind. “William the Conqueror was the one that ordered the castle to be built. King Philip of France once likened him to a pregnant woman about to give birth.”

America snorted, and England continued, a hint of a smirk on his face. “It’s true. His body exploded at his funeral, too. Priests tried to stuff him in a stone coffin that was too small and pressed too hard on his abdomen, and his stomach burst.”

“Did it smell?” America asked, suppressing his giggles.

Hook, line, and sinker.

“It was putrid. The mourners ran for the door while still crying about his death. I laughed.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. The man made me speak Franglais, what do you expect? In any event, the castle was finished after his death and disastrous funeral. Its first prisoner was Bishop Ranulf Flambard. However, he managed to escape.”

“Really? How?” America asked, intrigued.

“Well, most prisoners here actually lived very well. Flambard was one of those people. He had servants and everything. Anyway, he hosted a banquet, and-”

“He was allowed to throw banquets?”

“Yes. It was in 1011, I believe. There’s a specific date recorded, but I can’t remember it. Flambard invited the guards to his banquet and got them absolutely pissed. When they were distracted, he used a smuggled rope to climb out the window and run away to Normandy.”

“Solid escape plan,” America said approvingly. “What was he in for?”

“The new king kind of used him as a scapegoat for financial problems. After his ordeal, William II had a wall built around the outside. King Richard’s Lord Chancellor tried to build a moat around it filled by the Thames, but he failed, which was pretty funny. He strengthened it some more, but Henry III and Edward I made it into what it is today. They’re the ones that whitewashed the White Tower,” England pointed at the structure, “in the 13th Century. Henry thought it was more fashionable.”

“Right. Gotta keep up with Medieval trends, or the other kings will talk shit about you on Twitter. They’ll be like, ‘Hear ye, hear ye, let it be known throughout the land that Henry III is a fopdoodle!’ and then send their pigeons out with the message to all the commoners who will say, ‘I liketh this! I shall retweet it to my dearest friend’ and send the message on their own pigeons.”

England’s mouth curved up in a smile. “That was a surprisingly clever joke. But you have the right idea.”

“So what’s this place famous for? Besides the jewels.”

“Besides the jewels? Well, it’s not a very happy story, and I don’t think you’ll find it comforting when you’re jumpy.”

He pouted. “I’m not jumpy.”

“Yes, you are. But if you really want to know, King Edward IV died in the late 15th Century. His sons, Edward and Richard, were twelve and nine years old. Edward was automatically king since he was the eldest, but the coronation doesn’t happen immediately. Their uncle put them in the Tower, saying he was doing it to protect them until Edward V’s coronation, but got the brothers declared illegitimate. He took the crown as Richard III, and the boys went missing shortly after. The last time they were seen was here.”

America’s grip on his hand tightened, and he stared at him with wide eyes. “What happened to them?”

“According to history, it’s unknown. Nothing was ever proven. Back in the day, I was convinced Richard had them murdered and stashed them away somewhere in the tower. I tried desperately to prove it behind Richard’s back but never could. Two childrens’ skeletons were found buried under the staircase in the White Tower in the 17th Century. They were examined in the 30s and determined that they matched the princes’ ages, but they weren’t investigated well enough. They didn’t even confirm the sex of the owner of the bones, but I’m nearly certain that they belong to the princes.”

“Not to insult something you care about, but are the bones…?” He chewed his lip nervously.

“Here? No. They were moved to Westminster Abbey. So I guess they got a proper royal burial, but it always tugs at my mind. I just wish I had just looked in the right place, you know? I wish I could have proved it and dethroned Richard.”

America paused before wrapping his arms around England. The latter tensed up, not expecting the action, but slowly, he hugged back.

“It wasn’t your fault,” America said. “Forensics didn’t even exist back then. I’m sure you did the best you could.”

“I know. It would have been nice if fate had worked in my favor, though.”

He released him from the embrace and retook his hand. “Why don’t we go see those jewels now?”

“Only if you feel ready to go further in.”

His cheeks dusted pink. “I guess it’s not very nerve-wracking. Maybe I overreacted. It’s actually kind of cool here. And besides, I have you with me. So whatever. Let’s go see those crowns. Oh my god, England, _can put one on?”_

“Absolutely not.”

Just as England predicted, America was mesmerized by all the gems and glittering objects in the Jewel Room. Security made England uncomfortable when America was still holding onto his hand- he wouldn’t want them to get the wrong idea, after all- but he enjoyed running his thumb over the back of America’s hand too much to let go.

After they left the castle, England made himself drop his grip. Security might keep their mouths shut, but the people that could now see them (people with phones and cameras and eyes) wouldn’t.

“So. Not as terrible and scary as you thought?” England asked somewhat teasingly as they started down the sidewalk.

“Not a bit. We should go back sometime! Hey, maybe next time I see Queen Elizabeth, I can ask her real nice if she’d let me wear one.”

“Do _not_ bring that up to her. Ever. She barely tolerates you as is.”

He placed a hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Ouch. And besides, that’s not true. She loves me. Last time I was at Buckingham Palace, she asked me to tea.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“That’s because you weren’t invited. She did say my tea time etiquette was out of date, but to be fair, I hadn’t had to do something like that since the 18th Century when you made me do boring shit with Parliamentarians all the time. But we had a great time talking about you.”

England narrowed his eyes. “You’re bluffing.”

“Nope!” America said, popping the ‘p.’ “Ask her about it.”

“Damn it, you’re _not_ lying! I can tell!”

“Don’t worry. It was mostly good stuff.”

“Mostly?”

America shrugged. “She thinks you stress out too much about things out of your control or that aren’t a big deal. And she’s right, by the way.”

He tried to sputter out a response but came up with none. Defeated, he scowled and said. “Hurry up. We need to take the tube to Charing Cross.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back to my house. We’re going to hang out there until dinner.”

“Oh yeah, we’re going somewhere fancy.”

“Correct. And you are going to be on your best behavior, yes?”

America rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“America,” England grit out in warning.

“I said yes! Geez, I’m not a colony anymore, you know. No need to get all demanding. I won’t embarrass you at your fancy restaurant.”

Satisfied, England took him back to his house near Downing Street, where they had sandwiches from their grocery shopping at the Borough Market as an early lunch. They wasted most of their day away, talking about their respective families and shared friends.

When dinner time came, England loaned America one of his suits and wore a different one. They left the house and took the underground to the closest station. The last of the journey, they made on foot.

“We have reservations wherever it is, right?” America asked.

“Of course. And so we don’t argue at the table as we did at lunch the other day, I’m footing the bill.”

America shook his head. “No way, dude! You’ve been doing all kinds of shit for me this week.”

“No, really, I’ll do it.”

“England! It’d be super unheroic of me not to cover the cost of dinner. You’ve paid for most of the stuff during my trip, which is pretty backward in a way, if you think about it. Please let me take care of it.”

“You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“Yeah, I do. We’re heading to the Ritz.”

England blinked. “How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess, and you just confirmed it. Tell you what, you let me take care of dinner tonight, and you can worry about whatever we do tomorrow. Deal?”

“But my plans for tomorrow are…” He sighed. “Deal.”

America looked annoyingly smug as he entered the building beside his friend. England took the lead, going to the Ritz Restaurant and speaking to the hostess. “Hello. I had a reservation for two.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir. Right this way.”

The hostess escorted them to a table in a room that made America thankful England had loaned him a suit. He’d have felt far too underdressed without it because there were chandeliers all over the ceiling, the chairs had elegant padding, pristine cloths were draped over the tables, golden valances covered the tops of the large windows, and the walls had elaborate renaissance-like designs all over them.

They took their seats, ordered a bottle of wine, and opened their menus. America looked it over and said- “Multiple courses, huh?”

“Rethinking the bill?”

“Not at all. You’re not the only rich person at this table. Do you know how much my government pays me a year?”

“Way too bloody much.”

“Exactly. So it’s fine. I’m just happy I’m going to get a ton of food. What should I eat for the first course? And don’t say duck liver because I’ve already ruled that one out.”

He chuckled. “I figured. You know, it’s not that bad.”

“Don’t even try to talk me into it. Lobster or crab?”

“It’s up to you. I’m getting the langoustine.”

America tapped his chin dramatically before deciding. “I’ll get the crab. I like crab. And for the second course, I’ll probably get the tournedos of beef. Dessert is going to be the real challenge. Chocolate mousse or chocolate soufflé?”

“Whichever you don’t choose, I’ll get the other, and we can split them so you get a little of each.”

He gasped. “Really, Iggy? You’re not joking?”

“Don’t get too excited. They’re small portions, so we don’t get much.”

Eventually, the waiter took their orders, and they were getting to eat and talk things over. America had started the conversation by asking England, “Would you rather be able to breathe underwater or fly?”

“What kind of a question is that?”

“An important one. Go on. Pick.”

England laughed lightly. “I’d never considered it. Breathe underwater. Flying would make you cold with all the wind.”

“I think flying, for myself. You could do more with that. Like, I could come to visit you more often and do stuff in the air.”

I’m sticking with my original answer, but I see your point of view.”

“You sound like you’re discussing politics.”

He answered, “My bad. I guess the suit and formal setting triggered international-relations-me.”

America grinned. “Wanna hash out a trade agreement?”

“God, no.”

“Really? Because I’ll swap you one night of no corny jokes if you let me borrow your coat on the way home. I forgot mine.”

“You didn’t have to trade me for it, but I agree. I’m not giving up a pass from your bad jokes.”

On the way home, England told himself that the warmth in his chest had nothing to do with how cute America was in his clothes.

**Day Seven**

“Where the hell are we going?” America asked for the millionth time. They were hiking through some massive hills with backpacks strapped to them that America wasn’t allowed to open. As much as he liked to exercise, he didn’t enjoy the cluelessness of where they were going, especially since they’d driven across the entire country to the start of their hiking path.

“I told you, you’ll see when we get there!” England called from in front of him.

“That’s what you said last time, and then you took me to the Tower of London.”

“And you ended up enjoying yourself!”

He huffed. England had a point. He adjusted the backpack strap on his shoulder and stomped up a steep incline. “Are we almost there?”

“Almost. Just over the top of that hill.”

Finally! They trekked over the last stretch until they crested the hill. Below them lay a shimmering lake. The hills surrounding it were green with grass, trees dotted the open area, and the sun shone down on it like a light from heaven.

America sucked in a breath. “Whoa.”

“It’s called Buttermere Lake.” England swung his bag off his shoulder and unzipped it. He unfurled a blanket, letting it flutter in the wind for a moment before spreading it out and sitting down on top of it. “Well? Aren’t you going to sit down with me?”

Snapping out of his trace, America plopped down, crossing his legs and opening his own backpack. It was full of picnic foods: fresh fruits, some cheeses, mini sandwiches, and a loaf of bread. He laid them out and offered one of the sandwiches to his friend.

“Thanks,” England said, taking it.

“Damn, this was a good idea, Iggy. I mean- killer view, delicious-looking food… And you’re pretty good company, too.”

He smiled a little. “You’re not half bad either. I know you prefer burgers above all else, but I figured you’d be able to put up with an aesthetic picnic.”

“Put up with? This is, like, the nicest thing ever. Thank you. An excellent finale to my trip.”

England’s heart sunk. “Yes. I must admit I’m not exactly excited for you to fly home tomorrow.”

“Me neither, but my boss needs me. Maybe you should visit me next.”

“I doubt I’d be able to get a week off. Perhaps under the next Prime Minister, but it all depends. We normally go at least a couple of decades before we get to do something like this together.”

“It’s called optimism, Iggy. Anyway, let’s not think about it being my last day, even if this is a pretty good way to spend it. We can talk about… future plans! What are you doing next week?”

“Working.”

“Nothing fun?”

He shrugged. “Despite what you’ve seen this week, I don’t spend my time galavanting across my country doing whatever strikes my fancy. I fill out paperwork for Parliament and the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary and the monarchy and the Supreme Court and the UN and NATO and WHO and the EU and IMSC and CMF and the World Trade Organization and-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I guess it’s kind of the same way for me, but you’ve gotta make times for yourself too.”

He scoffed. “Funny.”

“No, really. You work like a dog, England. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always labored away, barely ever stopping to give yourself a break. Whether it’s on war, expanding your empire, reforming industrialization, advocating women’s suffrage, or maintaining world peace, you never rest. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect you. Taking time for yourself is healthy. Like, this week, you’ve been in the best mood I’ve seen you in in decades.”

“Perhaps it’s not the break. Perhaps it’s your company.”

America paused, gazing at him for a moment before looking away and laughing airily. “Well, the other nations have always said you’re nicest when I’m around. Maybe that’s why I have so many friends: they’re trying to avoid you when you’re in a bad mood, so they stick around me.”

“No, that’s not why. You have lots of friends because you’re likable. I mean, as disagreeable as your government can be, other nations can’t help but feel better around you because you’re kind and loyal and brave and good-hearted.”

“Now who’s the flatterer?”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” England said seriously. It was foolish, he knew, but he only had so much time before America would go away again, and he wouldn’t see him until the next international meeting. So fuck it.

He stared at him with something unreadable in his eyes. Finally, America said, “I’m full. We should probably start hiking back. The sun will go down soon.”

England nodded, getting up off the ground. They gathered their things and repacked them. It was rather uncomfortable on the way back because America was eerily quiet.

When they arrived back at England’s house, America went upstairs without saying much. Not wanting to press him, England sighed and went to his bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed and staring at the wall. Had he said too much? Been too nice? Had America figured it out? Oh god, he had, hadn’t he? As much as people teased him for being stupid, he wasn’t. He was very, very smart, and he had discovered England’s crush. But he didn’t reciprocate the feelings- that was why he was silent and avoiding him.

England’s eyes watered as he changed into pajamas and turned out the light. He was just about to get into bed when there was a soft knock at his door.

Quickly, he blinked back the tears and opened the door. America was in the dark hallway, and it was too dim to make much out, but he heard him say, “England, I’ve never been to the Stonehenge.”

That was unexpected.

“What?”

“It’s been there forever, and I’ve never seen it.”

He coughed. “Yes, well, perhaps if you visit again, we could go.”

“I wanna go now.”

England paused. “What?”

“I want to go. Tonight.”

“America, it’s…” He checked the clock. “Ten. It closed forever ago.”

“You couldn’t make one of your magical phone calls?”

“Well, I suppose I could, but it’s a two-hour drive! We’d get there at midnight and wouldn’t be back until at least 2:30. Your flight is at 9 am, and you’ll need to be at the airport early. You need to sleep.”

America sighed. “Please?”

“You _really_ want to go to the Stonehenge? In the _middle of the night?”_

“Yes.”

Let it be known that England was not a sucker. He did not just give into things. And that included America, even when he asked so sweetly, and it meant they’d get a few more precious hours together, and England missed him already, even if he wasn’t gone.

Okay, maybe he did. Maybe they did end up in the car, driving to Wiltshire with nothing to listen to but the sounds of the vehicle. But that didn’t make England a sucker.

They pulled over, and England removed the key from the ignition. “I brought a spare coat so that you could use mine. It might get chilly, and I don’t want you getting too cold.”

“Thank you.”

They crossed the grass, England focusing on the bizarreness of it all. They were at the Stonehenge, of all places, at midnight, without security around (he’d called them off), with America, under a sky sparkling with stars. Bizarre. Yes, that was the right word. Not romantic.

“Watch your step over this rope,” England advised.

“We’re going over the rope?”

“Yes.”

“Are tourists allowed over there?”

“No, but we’re not tourists. It’s fine, come along.” He led him over the grass, right into the center of the ring of stones. “Here we are, then.”

“I heard that no one knows why it was built. Is that true?”

England nodded as he watched America stroll through the arches, admiring the rocks. “That’s true. They were built long before I was even born. I wasn’t around until the AD years. The original circle was put up in 3100 BC. My mother never mentioned why they were created, so I don’t know. Historians think it was a temple or memorial of sorts, but it’s unclear. Just a fact lost to time, unfortunately.”

He examined one of the outer stones. “It fed into some of your older myths and stories, though, didn’t it?”

“Yes. Notably in Arthurian Legend.” He walked over to where America was standing, wondering why his heart was pounding. “What are you looking at so closely?”

“Not sure. They just have this… _weight_ to them, you know? Metaphorically. You can feel how ancient this place is.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” England said quietly. He observed America hesitantly stepping closer to the stone before pausing and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Suddenly, he found himself saying, “You can touch them if you want.”

America blinked. “Seriously? I don’t think the National Trust would like that.”

“They don’t let humans touch them because of the moss. But I’ll let you.”

“Are you allowed to do that?”

“They’re _my_ rocks, America,” He said in a teasing tone. “I can do what I want with them.”

Very gradually, America pulled his hand back out of his pocket and pressed it against the stone. His breath hitched when he came into contact with it and slowly dragged his fingers over the grooves. He stared at the monument with reverence, gently moving his fingertips over each nook and cranny with the utmost care.

His eyes flickered over to meet England’s for a moment as his tender exploration of a place so sacred, so close to England’s heart paused. He swallowed whatever words had been brewing, looking back at the Stonehenge. Then he stepped over to the next rock, running both hands over its surface and thumbing at the little divots in the silcrete.

As England watched his palms press against the rock, he found his heart thumping faster than ever before. If only America looked at him with that kind of wonder.

But then he did. He turned his awed gaze from the prehistoric formation, and it didn’t change when it landed on England himself. “England?”

“Yes?” He whispered, barely trusting his voice.

“I…” He reached out and took one of England’s hands in his own, squeezing tightly. “You’re amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that, but you are. And I think you’re extraordinary.”

England took a shaky breath. “Thank you. But really, you have your own natural wonders.”

“I didn’t mean your lands. Well, I guess, in part, I did.” America stepped closer until their faces were just a sliver apart. “But I meant _you._ And I…”

“What?” He asked, not daring to hope.

“I love you.”

Despite having spoken English for centuries, it was impossible for England to string together a coherent sentence. So, wordlessly, he leaned in, pressing his lips to America’s and savoring the way the hands that had worshiped the stones now spread their praises across his skin, cupping his cheeks with the utmost of care.

America’s lips were warm against his own, the only heat against the cool night air. They were soft, too, just as soft as England had imagined. And here they were, moving against his own like a dance, stealing his breath, flooding his mind, and healing his heart.

All too soon, their lips separated, but they didn’t step back or remove their hands from the other. 

“I love you, too,” England whispered, staring into those beautiful, beautiful eyes, blue as an Indiana sky and shining brighter than any of the diamonds that have ever graced the Jewel House.

**Day Eight**

London Heathrow was bustling around them, and it was killing England that he couldn’t kiss his new boyfriend goodbye. Well, he supposed, technically, he could, but he needed to discuss their relationship with his Prime Minister first, and America had to speak to his President so that their governments could negotiate them being public about it.

At least dating meant they’d need to draft a particular contract about not compromising National Security with information sharing, etc. That meant they had an excuse to advocate for a meeting in person to sign the documents instead of transporting them back and forth. And a meeting meant time to see each other.

“It’ll only be a couple of months at maximum,” England said, although he wasn’t sure whether he was trying to assure America or himself. “The UN will convene again in September.”

“I know. I’m going to miss you, though.”

“Me too. Be careful on the plane home. Don’t make friends with too many strangers, okay? It’s probably not a great idea. And if you do, stop giving out your personal cell! I’m very sick of having to change your number on my phone every couple of months when your old one gets leaked to the public.”

“But then how will Roy text me pictures of his postcard collection?”

England gave him a glare that held no venom. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me.”

“Keep your voice down,” England chastised, glancing around to make sure no one heard. “But yes, I do. Now go, you’ll be late.”

America nodded sadly. “Okay. We’ll see each other again soon, though.”

“Exactly. And we can call, FaceTime, and text. We’re very fortunate we didn’t get into a relationship back in the day. We needn’t rely on letters and agonizingly slow ships.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll admit I’ve been head over heels for you since the 18th Century, though.”

“I’ll maintain my dignity and not tell you I fell in love with you around them too. Fortunately for us, you’re not a colony anymore, though, so this isn’t morally dubious.”

“I never thought I’d hear you be pleased about my independence!” He laughed.

England couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Shut it.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay. Call me as soon as you land.”

“Will do.” He stepped back, waving over his shoulder before disappearing into the terminal.

Instantly, England felt his absence. But it would be okay. This was temporary. He only wished he’d made a move on Day One.


End file.
